


maybe ill burn a little brighter tonight, let the fire breathe me back to life

by gingerbread man (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Memories, Post-Scratch, Title from "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy, Which is also coincidentally the basis for this oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/gingerbread%20man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There’s a name on the tip of your tongue and a million reasons you love the wind and a million reasons the wind loves you, but it won’t click and that frustrates you. Your memories are a blur of blood and blue eyes and glasses and black hair and piano music and movies, but you don’t know what they mean and nothing will click.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe ill burn a little brighter tonight, let the fire breathe me back to life

**Author's Note:**

> based loosely, but kind of not loosely, on the song "miss missing you" by fall out boy. listen to it while you read this if you want, as i listened to it while i wrote this.

_i will sing to you every day_  
_if it will take away the pain_  
_oh and i've heard you got it, got it so bad_  
_'cause i am the best you'll never have_

Today is April thirteenth.

“It’s April thirteenth,” you tell your creepy-ass half-sister Rose who’s visiting you and Bro in Texas over spring break. She’s reading a book while you sketch a few new panels for your shitty webcomic that you’re too invested in for it to really be “ironic” anymore, and she looks at you behind thin, blonde eyelashes and curiously raises a perfectly kempt eyebrow. “Someone’s birthday is today.”

“I suppose you’re correct,” she responds, and you cringe at the way she speaks. So formal, too formal, like she owns a business or something and you’re a customer of hers. “Someone has a birthday every day. Are you speaking of someone specific?”

There’s a name on the tip of your tongue, at the back of your mind, but you can’t quite recall what it is and so you say, “No.”

Rose draws her brows together, but nods once. “Oh. Well, alright then,” she says, and then she’s back to reading her book and ignoring you.

Today is April thirteenth, and you can’t remember why that matters.

**+**

Rose doesn’t come to Texas for spring break next year.

You tell Bro that it’s a relief because she kind of freaks you the fuck out, and he smacks you upside the head and tells you not to talk about a lady like that and to stop using such vulgar language. You throw a hissy fit like the child you are and storm upstairs to your room, where you proceed to throw yourself down on the bed huffily and look out of your open window.

It’s one of those odd days where it’s actually nice in Texas, not that blistering melt-your-face off heat. The breeze shakes the trees and scatters papers in your bedroom, and there’s something trying to click in your brain but it isn’t clicking right and you wish it would. You stand from your bed and lean over the windowsill, and the breeze ruffles your hair.

It won’t click. There’s a name on the tip of your tongue and a million reasons you love the wind and a million reasons the wind loves you, but it won’t click and that frustrates you. Your memories are a blur of blood and blue eyes and glasses and black hair and piano music and movies, but you don’t know what they mean and nothing will click.

You hesitantly message Rose over Pesterchum, and as she’d promised when she had given you her handle, she answers immediately.

it wont click,  you say.

What won’t?  she asks.

why i love the wind,  you reply. why the wind loves me 

Oh, she responds. Oh. I have a similar issue.

really, you retort. it’s meant to sound sarcastic and you bet she picks up on it.

Yes, she fires instantly. For I cannot seem to remember why Space loves me, she pauses briefly. And why I love Space.

oh, you counter now. i didnt know

I wish I didn’t, either, she responds. and then she goes offline.

**+**

Today is April thirteenth, 1990.

Someone’s birthday is today. There is a name on the tip of your tongue and a million reasons you love the wind in the back of your mind, but you can’t remember. You climb to the roof where the wind is strong and dangle your legs off of the edge, stare at the ground and think about how easy it would be to just jump and end it all, but you don’t have time for that. You’ve got a kid to look after, and you aren’t going to leave him alone because of a few things you don’t remember.

Your thoughts are a blurred mess of blood and piano keys and wind and blue, and you root for your phone in the front pocket of your jeans and message Rose.

todays important, you say.

Yes, she responds instantly. Yes, indeed it is.

why? you ask.

I do not know, she replies. Isn’t it someone’s birthday?

yeah, you retort. yeah it is, but i dont know who

Neither do I. I wish I did, she says. you go offline.

**+**

Today is April thirteenth, 1991. It is Jane Crocker’s sixteenth birthday.

Dirk introduces her to you as his girlfriend, and you roll with it. She’s shorter than him by a whole head and much pudgier, and she has sky blue eyes that would probably be a lot brighter if they weren’t caged behind those generic frames of hers. “Hello, Mr.Strider,” she greets politely, and you nod in her direction. She looks to Dirk helplessly, and he shoots her a look that reads ‘he likes you, don’t worry,’ and she visibly relaxes.

They disappear into Dirk’s bedroom and make no noise the entire afternoon, and because you’re the coolest bro ever you leave the house when the small, breathy moans start. You decide you’ll take a walk because the weather is nice today, mid-seventies. There’s a warm breeze sweeping through the air, swirling leftover dead leaves of winter around, and it tussles your hair and tugs harshly at something buried in the back of your mind.

its windy today, you message rose.

Indeed, she responds. You’ve always loved the wind, haven’t you?

yes, you return. ill always love the wind and itll always love me too

I’m certain of that, she retorts. As Space will always love me and I will always love...her.

her? you ask.

Her, she answers, hesitantly. Her. Space was a her. Space is a her. Space is her, she is Space, and she fills the lonely places in my heart and the darkest corners of my mind. I love Space very, very much.

him, you try, now. him. wind was a him, wind is a him, wind is him and he is wind and he breezes through my heart and makes it twist and do fucking pirouettes and shit and he breezes through my brain and wont leave me the fuck alone. but goddamn, do i love wind. i love him so much

I know, she says. you go offline.

**+**

Today is April thirteenth, 1993.

Dirk took Jane out for her birthday, so you’re alone. Your phone is on the table in front of you, and you debate messaging Rose, but quickly decide against it. The heat is in full swing today, but there’s still the smallest hint of a breeze and it seeps through the cracks in your windows because this apartment is old as dirt and there are plenty of places for the breeze to sneak in through. Wind is tricky; it’s spontaneous and carefree and it wedges itself into places you don’t want it.

There’s a name on the tip of your tongue and a million reasons you love the wind in the back of your mind, but you can’t remember. Your memories are a haze of blood and a hand-carved grand piano and blue eyes and black hair and buckteeth, and after five minutes you finally decide to message Rose anyway.

he kinda looked like jane, you say. i think theyre related

She kind of looked like Jane, as well, she responds. Perhaps they’re all related.

maybe, you retort. or maybe were fucking crazy

While I do believe that wholly, she begins. I don’t think this is simply us being crazy. Not this time.

i think youre right, you say. she goes offline.

**+**

Today is April thirteenth, 1996.

Someone’s birthday is today. Not just Jane’s, but someone else’s. Someone who mattered to you like Jane matters to Dirk, like Space matters to Rose. You’re on the roof of your apartment because the wind is always the strongest up here, strong enough to ruffle your hair and clothes and, if it’s particularly breezy, knock your shades askew.

There’s a name on the tip of your tongue and a million reasons why you love the wind and a million reasons the wind loves you in the back of your mind, but you can’t remember. Your thoughts are a blur of blood and swords and hammers and blue and red and glasses and black hair and buckteeth, and you message Rose when your head starts pounding.

i miss him, you say. i miss the wind

I know, she replies. I miss him too. I miss Space.

i know, you respond. i miss space too

I’m in love with her, she says. I always have been.

im in love with him, you comeback. ive always been in love with him

Today’s his birthday, she answers after a long, long pause. Today is the Wind’s birthday. That’s why it means so much to you.

do you know his name? you ask, and she goes offline.

**+**

Today is April thirteenth. You don’t know what year.

You’re on the roof again. The wind is stronger than usual today, strong enough that as soon as your legs are dangling over the edge of the building, you have to grab at your shades so they don’t go flying off of your face. Your phone is in your hand and you debate messaging Rose, but you don’t think you’re going to quite yet.

There’s a name on the tip of your tongue and a million reasons you love the wind in the back of your head, and you can’t remember. Your memories are a blur of blood and swords and hammers and blue eyes and black hair and buckteeth and piano keys, and you message Rose when the images start to give you headaches.

you know, is what you start with. you know his name dont you

Yes, she responds. But I don’t know Space’s name. Do you know Space’s name, Dave?

yeah, you retort. you always have known space’s name. i always did

I’ve always known Wind’s name, she says. I’m sorry for not telling you.

its ok lalonde, you comeback. im sorry i didnt tell you either. but we can try now

You expect her to go offline again, but she doesn’t.

John, she responds after a long, long pause. John Egbert was Wind’s name.

jade, you type and send instantly. jade harley was spaces name

Rose goes offline. You do too.

The name on the tip of your tongue is John Egbert, and there are a million reasons you love him but you can’t list them all. Your memories are a blur of blood (its his blood its _his_ oh god its _everywhere_ why did this happen to you _why did this happen to you_ what did you do to deserve this _you cant fix it this time_ ) and blue eyes (they lose their luster fast because hes dying because hes a fucking idiot who gave his life for you and you fucking hate him _you hate him so so much_ because that was meant for you that was _your death_ and he took it from you like the selfless asshole he is and _you hate him you hate him_ ) and black hair (its sticky with blood but you comb your hands through it like you used to and you hum to him quietly because he always loved your voice and you kiss his head like he loved and you hold him and you cry because he took your death because he loved you and hes such a selfless asshole you _hate him_ ) and piano keys.

(his fingers are spindly and they move gracefully along the keys and it looks like hes barely touching them and you lean in the doorway and watch him because you know if he knows youre here hell stop playing because you make him nervous you always have and you dont know why but you do know you want to watch him play for once because hes _amazing_ at this)

(he catches you only after hes finished the piece and he blushes fiercely and reprimands you for not telling him that you were there and never asking him to play for you and you guess you never have before so its kinda your fault and then he laughs carelessly like he always has and pulls you in for a kiss and he tells you that he loves you against your lips and you say it back because you do you do you do you _love him so much so much_ )

(he dies a heroic death and you knew he would because you always knew he was a hero and he dies in your arms with blood splattered on his glasses and caked in his hair and he tells you that hes always going to love you no matter what, even if when youre reincarnated you cant remember who he is and you cry and cry and cry and cry but when you wake up in your bed the next morning there are no dried tears on your cheeks and when you trip over some stupid looking blue windsock thing on your floor you toss it in the dumpster out back because

you

have

forgotten.)

 _baby, you were my picket fence_  
_i miss missing you now and then._

**Author's Note:**

> blargh. this sucks, but i'm super stressed and piled in schoolwork so i just wanted to write something. i was really in the mood for post-scratch, so ta-da, here's this piece of shit. hope you enjoyed. i'm sure i crushed at least one person's heart and feelings.


End file.
